


Twelvestep

by Azul_Bleu



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, canon? what canon.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-06
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-11-04 22:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azul_Bleu/pseuds/Azul_Bleu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Santana doesn't date. Not really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelvestep

**Author's Note:**

> Not canon compliant, obviously. Written around halfway through season two, when I still cared about Glee.

\---

 

She wonders when things got so fucked up that she became jealous of a cripple.

 

With glasses.

 

\---

 

“If we’re going to take our rightful status as resident power couple, we need to work on your image.”

 

Sam looks down at his body, currently laying half-naked on Santana’s bed. “What’s wrong with my image?”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Please. Apart from the oversized flappers hanging off your face, you’re clean-cut. You’re too… _nice_.”

 

“That’s bad?”

 

“Finn and Quinn have that America’s Sweethearts vibe coming out their pores. They practically crap apple pie and sweat Cool Whip. We need to counter that with some bad ass.”

 

He raises an eye-brow and smirks with those enormous lips. “I think your ass is bad enough for the both of us.”

 

\---

 

She lays down some ground rules.

 

“No more impressions. Or Smurf talk.”

 

“Not even when it’s just us?”

 

And because his Finn-dumber-than-dirt-Hudson impersonation made her laugh till she strained something, she relents.

 

“Just us.”

 

\---

 

“First order of business, haircut.”

 

“Whoa, don’t mess with the ‘do.”

 

“You look like a pre-menopausal lesbian.”

 

She’s pulling his hair hard enough to hurt, and he just smiles. Flips her onto her back and presses down into her. “Whatever, babe.”

 

\---

 

When he makes her come the first time, she is paralysed with shock. He just kisses his way up her body, tasting her slowly, languidly. 

 

For a brief instant she’s sure he really is going to unhinge his jaw, swallow her whole. 

 

\---

 

“Why the hell would you write a song about my _mouth_? Are you completely psychotic?”

 

“Well, _yeah_. Where the hell have you been?”

 

\---

 

He pouts, and it’s all she can do not to make a mouth joke. But he hasn’t smiled at her all day, and there’s something wrong with that picture.

 

She sidles up next to him after school.

 

“So, what’s the Smurf word for sorry?”

 

It’s a heartbeat or two till he answers, and maybe she holds her breath. Just a little.

 

But then he smiles and slings an arm around her shoulders. “How many times, Santana? It’s Na’vi.”

 

\---

 

The first time he makes her sit through one of his sci-fi shows, she nearly strangles him. Only the fact that he promised to give her head after restrained her.

 

She keeps up the act of resistance long after she gets hooked.

 

\---

 

“You were my first, you know that?”

 

They’re lying on her bed, sweaty and naked. Sam is bashful, coy, hiding his grin and looking up at her through his fringe. Santana doesn’t bother to reply. He’s looking at her like she just barfed up a unicorn, and she can’t think about unicorns without wanting to cry.

 

And Santana _does not_ cry.

 

She sits up, grabbing a robe from the pile on the floor. “I want a poptart.” She’s out the door into the kitchen before he can open those oversized lips to comment.

 

Her hands are shaking as she loads the toaster.

 

Sam walks in, nothing on but boxers, and puts his arms around her. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Santana closes her eyes, leans back, and pretends. 

 

\---

 

They spend time together. Not just sex, but talking, or studying, or watching his sci-fi shows. (She will call them _his_ to her grave.)

 

She doesn’t think too hard about it. If she doesn’t acknowledge they have something, then she has nothing to lose.

 

\---

 

The gifts start coming. A piece of gum. A strap of red liquorice. A post-it with something in that stupid Smurf language on it.

 

She doesn’t want to think about why she keeps them.

 

\---

 

“What do you want to do after high school?”

 

She closes her eyes. “Just… not be here.”

 

He grasps her hand softly. “Can I come?”

 

She snorts. “Not with grades like yours.”

 

\---

 

Spanish is his worst subject. Santana helps.

 

“Dondé quieres me tocar?”

 

\---

 

Artie and Brittany invite them on a double date. Or rather, Artie does, and Brittany doesn’t stop him.

 

Santana makes out with Sam the whole evening. They get kicked out of Breadsticks, and Santana hopes that puts Artie’s idea of couple’s hangouts to bed.

 

She tries not to think of the disappointment she saw on Brittany’s face.

 

\---

 

Quinn and Finn are adorable in public now, and Santana wonders what kind of stigma-repellent Quinn is using. Shit just doesn’t stick to that girl.

 

The first time they sing a duet together everyone is transfixed. Not with the couple singing, but with Rachel. They’re waiting for the diva fit.

 

Santana’s looking somewhere else. Sam’s bottom lip quivers. Just once, just a bit. How could she miss it? It’s like a tsunami on his face.

 

\---

 

She kisses it better after.

 

\---

 

He makes a lame joke in Glee, and she laughs. Embarrassment hits her for a second, before she sees the tiny smile he tries to hide.

 

\---

 

“And we’re watching this shit, why?”

 

“It’s a classic.”

 

“And what’s with the Tobacco monster?”

 

“That’s _Chewbacca_.”

 

\---

 

Finn and Quinn break up. Rachel has broken out the champagne and everyone else is collecting on the various betting pools, but Santana can’t find it in her to be triumphant. Relationship failures usually cheer her up, but all she can think is that Quinn is single again.

 

\---

 

“You’re so angry all the time. Maybe you should take an anger-management class.”

 

“Maybe you should lay off the collagen. Seriously, your doctor should be reported.”

 

\---

 

It’s the day they’re supposed to leave for Nationals and no one can find Artie.

 

Mr Schue is freaking out, Brittany is hysterical and the Glee Club is at Def Con One.

 

Santana silently slips out and walks.

 

She finds who she’s looking for in the ditch behind the equipment shed. Karofsky is smoking a joint and looking far too pleased with himself.

 

“What do you want, funbags?” he sneers at her.

 

No one out sasses Santana Lopez. “You tell me where he is right now, or I tell everyone that you couldn’t get it up for Madison Klaus at Holly Dunnick’s party last spring break.”

 

“How did--- That’s a lie!”

 

Her eyes narrow. “This one time offer to keep my mouth shut expires in three… two…”

 

“Fine.”

 

\---

 

One anonymous phone call later, Santana swans back into the choir room. Artie is shaken but in one piece, and everyone glares at her.

 

“So glad to see you took a break from your busy life to _help_ , Santana,” Mercedes snaps.

 

“Please, like I care Professor X here forgot to release the parking break,” she replies, tossing her hair.

 

Sam grabs her hand. “Nice reference.”

 

She almost doesn’t notice the look Brit gives her.

 

Almost.

 

\---

 

“You _dye_ it?”

 

“It’s darker here. There’s not enough sun in Ohio.”

 

“And you’re _sure_ you’re not a fag?”

 

He tackles her to the bed and proves it.

 

\---

 

Nationals is insane. Santana could have lived without seeing that many people of Rachel Berry-like intensity in one place. Not to mention the original Rachel Berry, who has outdone herself in terms of crazy. She has them doing vocal drills from seven am on their competition morning.

 

It’s now nine,  and she’s about a breath away from going postal on the entire Glee Club when Sam speaks up from beside her.

 

“Guys, enough. We’re done here.”

  
Rachel bristles, Finn follows suit, Mr Schue tries to mediate, and Sam ignores them all. Just grabs her hand and pulls her out of the hotel room. “We’ll see you at four!”

 

\---

 

“I clearly underestimated the amount of badassery those guppy lips were hiding.”

 

“Hey, I could smuggle a turkey under these bad boys.”

 

\---

 

They lose Nationals. Runners up.

 

Brittany cries in Artie’s arms the whole way home and Santana just folds into herself.

 

But she feels an arm holding her, and leans into his warmth.

 

Quinn’s stare bores into her skull.

 

\---

 

Her mood swings give him whiplash, but he learns that it’s like tether ball. You have to hit back.

 

“God, will you shut _up_ with the nerd talk?”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it shallow bitch hour already?”

 

She glares at him for exactly ten seconds before the laughter kicks in.

 

\---

 

“Will you go with me to Prom?”

 

His mouth drops open in surprise. “I thought you’d hate something like that.”

 

She shrugs. “I’ll try anything once.”

 

He leers. “Anything?”

 

\---

 

She’s touching up her make-up and hears the unmistakeable voice of Mercedes from the stall behind her.

 

“So, you making your move or what?”

 

She’s about to reply when Quinn pipes up from the next stall over.

 

“I’m waiting till he’s alone. Last thing I need is Santana and her two air balloons interfering.”

 

Santana doesn’t wait to hear anything else. She’s walking home before Sam can even notice she’s gone.

 

\--- 

 

He’s at her house waiting for her by the time she stumbles into her front yard.

 

“You left this on the sink,” he says, and holds up her purse. “Mercedes gave it to me.”

 

She doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, because no way does Quinn Fabray get ditched for Santana Lopez. 

 

He walks towards her, slowly, like she’s a frightened animal. She supposes he’s not far off. She waits for the brush off, the break up, the ending of whatever the hell this was.

 

But he just takes his jacket off and puts it around her. “It’s cold. Let’s go watch Lost.”

 

She lets him lead her into the house. “You know I hate that show.”

 

“Everyone does. That’s part of its charm.”

 

Santana wonders if the same is true about her, or whether she’s missing the charm.

 

\---

 

The gifts keep coming.

 

Coffee just how she likes it every morning. Her favourite perfume. A book (which no one will see her read; she has a reputation to uphold, after all).

 

\---

 

Sam is studying at his desk and Santana is sprawled out on his bed, fully clothed, when she realises it.

 

She sits up. “Sam.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“ _Sam_.”

 

He swivels around and lifts his hands. “What?”

 

“We’re _dating_.”

 

He stares at her blankly.

 

“Like _dating_ dating.”

 

He smiles. “I was wondering when you’d catch on.”

 

\---

 

“I’ve never dated anyone before. Like _dated_ dated.”

 

“Firsts all around, then.”

 

\---

 

Brittany and Artie break up, and Santana sees the tension that settles into Sam the instant he hears the news.

 

\---

 

It takes a day or two, but she figures it out. Sensitivity, she realises, is what’s needed here.

 

“Look, frog face, I don’t know what is going on underneath that peroxide rug in the echoing void of space you call a brain, but I’m in love with you, so you better get the hell out of your funk before it interferes with your manly duties. I gots _needs_ , and no moping is gonna get you out of fulfilling them.”

 

Sam smiles, and opens his mouth to reply.

 

“And no fucking Smurf talk from you.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

Which works just fine for her.

 

\---

 

Santana sings a song for Sam in Glee Club.

 

And this one isn’t about giant lips.

 

\---

 

 


End file.
